


Let’s Be Alone Together

by BulletproofFurniture



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Established Relationship, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-21
Updated: 2018-06-21
Packaged: 2019-05-26 13:23:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,310
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15001793
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BulletproofFurniture/pseuds/BulletproofFurniture
Summary: Hank has a bad day at work.





	Let’s Be Alone Together

**Author's Note:**

> I feel like I haven’t written anything in 5 years lol. Thanks to roomie/life partner [CJ](http://twitter.com/moxxxley) for giving me something I actually wanted to write.
> 
> The title is from a song, of course. Fall Out Boy’s Alone Together.

Connor sees most things. He catches habits and patterns in human behavior that most people will only pick up on a subconscious level. With Hank, his little idiosyncrasies are particularly obvious to Connor - he gets antsy when he wants a drink and can’t have one; he shifts his weight to his left leg when he gets impatient during an interrogation, or if a witness takes too long giving a statement; he doesn’t speak much after a particularly rough day.

The last one sticks out most glaringly. Hank will come home, drink a little and eat nothing, watch television without actually seeing anything, and then go to bed. He doesn’t answer Connor’s questions with anything more than a grunt, and doesn’t seem to notice when Sumo wants attention. It also tends to make him more upset when Connor points this out. It’s distressing, especially since Connor likes to consider himself something of a man of action; but it’s hard to fix something when he’s the only one to see the problem.

One day, like many before it, Hank gets called in for a homicide. “Human victim,” Hank tells him, pulling on his coat. “Pretty straightforward. Go on home, I’ll take care of this if you take care of dinner.”

But Hank isn’t meeting Connor’s eyes and the corners of his lips are tight with distress, so Connor accesses the email the chief sent them both to get the answers he knows Hank won’t give him.

The victim is a young boy, six years old, three and a half feet tall and forty pounds. Samuel Jenkins. Underweight at the time of death. Cause of death: blunt trauma to the head. Found in his father’s emptied apartment.

Yes, Connor thinks with no small amount of sorrow. A cut and dry case. And Hank, as always, trying to protect Connor in his own way. “I will,” Connor agrees. He stands and adjusts Hank’s collar, smoothing rumpled edges. “I will see you at home.” Hank manages a shade of a smile before he turns and leaves, heading to the parking lot.

Connor finishes up a report at his desk before leaving himself, a plan forming in his mind. He’s never been able to shake Hank out of his gloom after a case like this; conversation doesn’t seem to do much, and even shoving Sumo at him doesn’t help. But getting him to eat dinner is a good first step, and one Connor hasn’t tried too hard at yet.

So he heads to the grocery store first. Hank likes unhealthy food, and Connor is smart enough to realize that Hank sneaks bad foods when he thinks Connor isn’t paying attention. (Connor is always paying attention.) But lean steak, while a red meat and on his list of Things Hank Probably Shouldn’t Eat, isn’t unhealthy in itself and would be a nice treat for Hank to come home to. So Connor purchases one, and plans a salad to go alongside it from the vegetables they have at home.

After taking Sumo to the dog park and tidying the house a little, he begins cooking. The television is on in the background, some romantic comedy that Hank’s streaming service had recommended based on Hank’s past choices. Connor couldn’t help but think it cute, and while he doesn’t necessarily mind working in silence, he’s become accustomed to Hank’s voice filling the house. The movie is enough to take his mind off of the silence as he cooks.

Hank comes in just as Connor is plating the food, and he looks just as worn as Connor had been expecting. “Welcome home,” he calls from the kitchen. Hank wanders in, looking puzzled. The scent, Connor decides, must be the source of his confusion. This kitchen hasn’t seen real beef in awhile.

He sets the plate on the kitchen table before stopping in front of Hank for a brief kiss. “Sit,” he instructs firmly, going back to the counter to start tidying up. “Eat before it gets cold.” He starts chatting about his day as if nothing is out of the ordinary, and after a few moments, he hears Hank pull out his chair and sit. And as he’s putting the pans he’d dirtied in the sink, he hears Hank start to eat. Connor doesn’t quite sag in relief, but he does let himself smile a little with the victory.

“Thought you said I can’t have red meat,” Hank says roughly once Connor pauses in the middle of a story about Sumo playing with a Labrador. “‘Cause of my health. Cholesterol.”

“It is true that you eat less healthily than I like,” Connor says with a pointed look. Hank looks back down at his half-finished steak, avoiding Connor’s glare but not quite concealing a bit of a smile. “But cheating a little is fine if you eat better for the most part. Which is why you should _also_ eat the salad.” Hank grumbles, but stabs some lettuce with his fork.

After dinner and after Connor finishes dishes, he joins Hank on the couch to watch another romantic comedy. He sits closer to Hank than he might normally; and when Hank relaxes against him a little he doesn’t say anything, but leans a little into Hank, too. He’s observed in the past that Hank does well with physical reassurance, even if he pretends he hates it, so Connor threads his fingers through Hank’s and ignores his grumbling. Hank relaxes more, and Connor counts it as a win.

Connor bullies Hank into going to bed after the movie is over, rather than letting him stay awake and wallow more. He strips down to his underwear as Hank gets settled, and climbs in under the blankets. “Are we gonna fuck to try and make me feel better, too?” Hank asks with a raised eyebrow. “Or you gonna leave me high and dry?” Shoot.

“Skin-to-skin contact can be very comforting, but intercourse can lead to an endorphin crash afterwards,” Connor answers honestly. Hank scoffs. “With your history of mental health, I figured it best to avoid it. I hadn’t realized I’d been so obvious in my efforts to raise your spirits. I apologize.”

“What for,” Hank grunts, rolling on his side to face Connor.

“I’ve noticed in the past that bringing your negative emotions to light after a difficult day only tends to increase your unhappiness,” Connor explains. “I’m disappointed that I wasn’t able to help, even with a different approach.”

Hank is quiet for a bit, then mutters, “You notice a lot, huh? Must pick up a lot, being an android.”

“I do,” Connor says, matching Hank’s quiet volume. “It’s easy for me to notice patterns in behavior, and deviations from that pattern.”

“You get that from everyone?”

“Everyone I spend enough time around, yes.” Hank still seems quiet and sad, looking at the sheets between them thoughtfully. Connor cups his cheek gently, and Hank meets his eyes. “I notice everyone’s habits and catalogue them, yes. But yours are the ones I enjoy the most. I see in your habits your strength, and your capacity for love, and your vulnerability. I see them and I love them, because they describe you and I love you.”

Hank finally seems to soften at that. “That’s dumb,” he says, just to be contrary. Connor grins anyway. “Well, whatever you were trying to do, it worked a little, I guess.” And it did, Connor can see that. Hank is still sad and this homicide will probably turn up in his nightmares for awhile, but at least he’ll know that Connor will be here when he wakes up.

“I’m glad,” Connor says, reaching over to hold Hank’s hand again. “I love you.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Hank gripes, scooting closer to Connor. “I love you, too, _I guess_.” Connor grins and rests his forehead against Hank’s. “Good night, Connor.”

“Good night, Hank.”


End file.
